The Accursed Tale of Viktor Nikiforov
by Araminthe Ispwitch
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a man named Viktor Nikiforov. However, his story isn't something clear-cut like generic fairytales. [Part 1 of the Two Sides of a Fairytale songfic series]


**UPDATE [1/5/17]:**

So I got notified by a review that I need to change this story's flow because apparently, the music industry doesn't like songfics wherein the lyrics are artfully seamed into the story and so FFNet has to appease them for the glory of copyright infringement and sleeping in when plagiarism cases arise.

 _So either I take out the lyrics on this fanfic or delete my fanfic before FFNet deletes it for me._

What? Take out the lyrics? **_You're joking, right?_** Those lyrical words are the lifeline of my two-part AMV-esque series. The entire point of me writing this is for character study and further writing refinement practice on flowery prose. There is a good reason I've decided to include the lyrics—especially when I am skilled enough to write songfics without them. I deliberately wrote it this way because that's how I wanted to present my story.

So why on earth would I crop out what is essentially the backdrop of a beautiful play that I've crafted? I have to assume that you've never encountered well-written songfics before, if you suggest this to me. They exist, you know. I would understand if what I wrote was shit, but it's _not_ and my readers can attest to that. And I've already disclaimed having to do anything with the song since _it's not mine but just the foundation I've used for this fic._

But you know what? Just to keep this in here for my fellow fans, fine— _I'll follow your rules_.

But.

 _ **Let's see if my poetic fiction makes sense without them now.**_

TL;DR:

You readers are better off reading this on my **Tumblr** (araminthe-ispwitch. tumblr. co*m / post/ 155350492686/ the-accursed-tale-of-viktor-nikiforov) and _preferably_ on **AO3** (archiveofourown. or*g / works/ 9079108).

Actually, you know what? I'm gonna stop you right here, right now:

 _ **GO TO THE LINKS LISTED TO READ INSTEAD OF READING IT**_ **HERE** _ **.**_

Thank you and have a nice day. Our scheduled program now resumes.

* * *

This is my birthday fic/song fic/attempted character study for Viktor Nikiforov a.k.a. that other dude born on December 25.

Emphasis on the "attempted" part.

Anyways, because he's on Christmas and Georgi "My Stupid Son" Popovich was born on Dec. 26 (can you believe the writers' cruelty?), I've decided that a short series of indirectly comparing them—going along with the theme of Georgi always being shadowed by Viktor—was a great idea.

(It's not actually, because now my other fics had to be put on hold.)

* * *

 **Important Stuff to Note:**

1) This Viktor-centric oneshot is very poetic—like REALLY poetic. Because it's a song fic—complete with lyrics and all that—I've tried to visualize it as an AMV of sorts, which is why the writing is like that and there's not much exposition (which, if you've read my other stuff, you'll know is my specialty).

2) Those lines centered, bolded, and italicized all together are the lyrics... and other stuff. ;D

3) There's a lot of time-skips here because we get to see how Viktor's life progresses.

4) I highly, HIGHLY encourage you to watch/listen to _**Fairytale by Alexander Rybak**_ , the very inspiration for this and Georgi's own b-day fic. (You should watch his music video or his live performance because you need to see how cute that fucker is, but that one lyric video on Youtube is better in terms of sound quality.)

5) Did you listen to it yet? You should. In fact, somebody should seriously fucking skate to it. I mean, it won Eurovision Song Contest 2009, didn't it? _What do you mean it's not the greatest song ever?_

6) I use the Victor-with-a-k spelling, so please get used to it.

7) Of course I don't own YOI or Alexander Rybak's song. T-T

 **Cross-posted in:** AO3, Tumblr

* * *

 **The Accursed Tale of Viktor Nikiforov**

Part 1 of the _Two Sides of a Fairytale_ series

* * *

Once upon a time, a lone violin cry deafened the silence.

The spotlights from above grew warm and comforting.

The sound of ice being sliced coalesced into its own song.

And the world stilled to watch and listen.

Come.

Witness the tale of the Accursed Man.

* * *

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn't imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air. To his precious audience, he was alone up on the glittering stage, but only the man could see the young feminine form coming to him, taking his hands.

Viktor smiled softly, his eyes only for her—for the beautiful creature who only ever answered to him. The girl laughed, eyes crinkling as the brilliant lights of the stadium bore down upon her veil of silver hair and moonlit skin.

They drew close, foreheads touching in a solemn, intimate prayer.

* * *

Then they backed away—fingertips still connected—and the mirror dance began.

* * *

Jump.

Spin.

Balance.

Glide.

Every movement, every action coursed through Viktor's body as if they were natural to have occurred. And underneath the caress of the piercing music reverberating throughout the stage, they were. Viktor didn't need to see if the girl was doing well—if she was copying him perfectly.

After all, they were one.

Their heartbeats were dancing to the same song—their skates gliding on the same ice.

They were one. And they will never let each other go.

* * *

They will always be with each other.

* * *

"Don't you think your hair is getting too long?"

Viktor blinked at his fellow skater, halting his brushing movements. His silver mane stilled as he did.

"What?"

"It's not really fitting well with your look right now."

Viktor blinked some more. "What do you mean?"

"Well… your body is getting more defined throughout the years…" the woman explained. "I think you would look better with a shorter hairstyle."

"Yeah, I think so, too," quipped another skater—a guy this time. "You're past your puberty now, right? Having a mature look would get you more fans!"

Viktor barely heard the man's encouraging enthusiasm, his hands restarting their brushing motion. His coach came into his view as the others chatted about how Viktor would look like in the future.

"Yakov…"

"Hm?"

Turquoise eyes lifted up to the old man, a glazed and unfocused look to them. "Do you think I should cut my hair?"

Yakov raised a brow.

"Really short, I mean?"

"Ah." Yakov hummed in thought. He eyed his student's suddenly-serious disposition. "It _would_ make a good image on you, at least. You've never really had short hair before, right?"

Viktor nodded.

"Hairstyle changes can be good sometimes," said Yakov with a shrug. He eyed Viktor carefully once again. "But it's alright to not change anything. It's up to you."

Viktor nodded again, gaze staring past the floor's pattern. His hands were busy with brushing, but every bristle of his mane against his fingers felt so keenly sensitive.

* * *

 _"Isn't your hair a bit too long?"_

 _"You're an adult now, aren't you?"_

 _"You should act more mature."_

 _"A manly sex appeal would suit you!"_

 _"Just think of how the world would fawn over you if you changed your image!"_

Darkness. A familiar space. Sometimes, there was color—and other times, it was a void.

A mirror was in front of him. It had always been with him ever since he could remember. It helped him see himself clearly.

His vibrant girl was staring back at him, as usual. But for once, they were wearing the same dull expression.

Unintelligible whispers were echoing throughout the space and every hiss reaching them made his girl shiver. But she wouldn't openly show her fear. She was strong.

The garbled hissing wrapped itself around Viktor, but he didn't need to understand them. He knew what they were all about.

 _Change._

 _Change._

 _Change._

Viktor was at the cusp of metamorphosis and he ought to change.

Ought.

The girl stayed silent, looking back at him with muted blue orbs.

 _But I like it long.  
_

* * *

Viktor didn't know how and when the poisoned words—compelling, daunting, _choking_ words—started to sear themselves into his skin like sentient tattoos, but sear into his skin they did, and Viktor quickly discovered that he was at the mercy of their cruelty.

A game of tug-of-war ensued—Viktor helpless to the pull of the invisible chains linked from his unwanted tattoos to the door outside his sanctuary, yet still stubbornly digging his feet into the ground as he battled to keep his fingertips on the mirror.

Honestly, it was no longer just a game.

His girl mouthed words only audible to him and he managed to add another fraction inch of skin on the reflective glass, at the cost of his curses cutting deeper into his body.

A light suddenly flew past him, startling both man and girl.

Viktor looked over his shoulder. A familiar figure was going ahead to the outside world, and a sense of dread started coiling itself into Viktor's stomach.

Several more lights flew past the pitch-black sanctuary and Viktor realized with horror that… they were all leaving him behind.

The earth beneath him shifted and the familiar warm feeling of being watched—of being appreciated, of being appraised, of being _acknowledged_ —left his skin like a cold mist settling in. The coiling dread spread almost immediately.

The buzzing in his ears grew louder, a mixture of his girl's voice and the thousand voices of the outside world.

 _You can't stay still._

 _They'll get bored._

 _You need to evolve._

Viktor slowly turned back to his girl, finding her beautiful turquoise orbs filled with uncertainty. He lifted a hand and caressed the image of her porcelain cheek.

* * *

"Oh, hey, Vik—oh, wow! You look great!"

Viktor squeezed the doorknob as several of his fellow skaters crowded around him to marvel at his new haircut.

"I told you you'd look amazing with short hair!" said the woman who'd suggested the idea to him. They all murmured agreements as they continued to ogle and croon at him.

Unseen to his audience, Viktor looked back over his shoulder, where light from the opened world spilled onto a landscape of darkness and coldness.

A lone mirror stands at the center.

She wasn't there.

But the hissing and pain of his tattoos had stopped.

Viktor slowly closed the door. He turned back to the audience and forced the corners of his lips to stretch.

"I know, right?"

* * *

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn't imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air.

It remained empty.

* * *

Snow fell softly on the dimly-lit garden. Seated, Viktor stared up into the dark sky, his arms around his beloved dog. The world was quiet and there was no spotlight or camera flash for Viktor to pose for. Not a soul was in sight for him to entertain.

He was all alone.

But still, the air remained empty.

And deep inside, a hole in his soul grew larger as the days passed.

* * *

For every year that passed, the painful inward tugs of the coercive tattoos come and go. They were always the sign that Viktor needed to evolve even _further_.

His past self must die and be reborn to become stronger—better. He couldn't let his rivals surpass him for long. He couldn't let his audience feel bored.

But sometimes, when he's alone with his thoughts, he would visit the abandoned sanctuary.

The mirror had become transparent glass.

* * *

Cameras flashed left and right, illuminating the proudly-smiling and charismatic face of Viktor as he held up his gold medal for the world to see.

But the low thrumming of the tattoos were just underneath his costume. He had to change—to unfurl as a new flower—once again.

 _I'm at the end of my rope. At some point, I'll have to stop spinning for the world._

Viktor smiled just a little bit wider. He _can_ evolve.

In the darkness, a faint cracking could be heard.

* * *

"A commemorative photo? Sure."

Viktor couldn't help his eyes widening by a fraction when the bespectacled man he was one-sidedly talking to just turned away from him without any goodbye whatsoever.

Deep within his core, a familiar tug ached… and brought him back to a time when he lifted his fingertips off that glass.

Viktor turned back to Yakov and Yuri. Just another reminder of the past. Nothing to it.

At least the man had looked horrified at him before he left. That was a nice difference.

* * *

"Be my coach, Viktor!"

Viktor stared—gaped—unbelieving at the slurred words of the giddy Japanese man clinging to him—who had, only hours before, walked away from the five-time consecutive Grand Prix Final champion like said champion was _nothing_.

A resounding crack of glass—a shiver—reverberated through him— _within_ him—and Viktor barely stopped himself from letting out an effervescent sob.

* * *

When he caught wind of a perfect copy of his winning FS routine for the Worlds already viral online, Viktor's brows unabashedly cocked in surprise. That wasn't anything new—some skaters had tried the same throughout the years.

But the way people were reacting to it piqued his curiosity.

Now, lying on his sofa with Makkachin resting on him as he watched the aforementioned video for the fifth time, Viktor understood and respected their awe.

Yuuri Katsuki was something else.

There was no music—only the song of his skates making love with the ice—and yet, Viktor could hear every single note of the familiar melody as if he was right there with him.

A swish of silver hair and tinkling laughter flashed before his mind's eyes and his lips thinned, bitten inside to prevent him from making any noise.

The video finished too soon for his taste. Unbidden, a small voice asked—whispered—for another replay.

Viktor didn't hesitate to heed it.

* * *

"I want to eat pork cutlet bowls with you, Viktor."

Short silver hair swished to fully turn to Yuuri and turquoise-colored eyes widened in surprise and confusion at the wish of the skater.

"I want to keep on winning, and keep on eating pork cutlet bowls!"

Viktor blinked, the words resurfacing buried images in his mind—of the proud roar of a crowd, of the satisfying weight of a medal around his neck, of the wonderful feeling of his precious mane slipping through his fingers as he lets the rush of the wind toy with it.

"So I'll skate to 'Eros'!"

 _There must be something else I can do to surprise the world._ The tattoos had tugged harder, urging him to think of anything. _This can't be the end._

"I'll give it all the eros I've got!"

When Viktor had arrived in Japan, he had convinced himself that this was the path he had been seeking. Yuuri Katsuki had provided that with his drunken plea to him back at the banquet months ago, and after seeing him copy Viktor's routine, the silver-haired man clung to this hope that he can still evolve—still change and wow the crowd—through _this_.

But now, seeing the Japanese man boldly declare to him that he was going to fight for a chance to eat with Viktor—to _be_ with Viktor—well…

For the first time in a long while, the searing curse entwined around him and the seeking shadows of that long-abandoned sanctuary stilled for just a moment as Viktor smiled vibrantly, genuinely happy with Yuuri's wish.

* * *

 _ **I'm already cursed**_

* * *

The tattoos curl around him for the nth time, and Viktor lets his previous smile linger into just a plain line as the stark whiteness of the outside world's sanctuary—his new sanctuary—enveloped him completely.

* * *

 _ **I'm already…**_

* * *

The need to push himself—to extend the rope even further, to exert every last drop of his strength into staying, to hold on until he was forced to let go—curls around him.

* * *

 _ **Yeah…**_

* * *

His new mirror reflects the sickly white of the place. His hair looks almost non-existent amidst the light.

* * *

 ** _…_**

* * *

"I hate you."

The mirror is silent.

No one's home.

* * *

 _ **No...**_

* * *

"Viktor?"

* * *

 _ **No.**_

* * *

A tinkle of familiar laughter.

But when Viktor blinked at a worried Yuuri suddenly so close to his face, the laughter seemed so far away.

* * *

 _ **No…?**_

* * *

"Is everything okay…?"

Viktor couldn't help the sudden, quiet intake of breath. Yuuri was a vision in blue. He's seen the outfit several times already, but never in that color—and for once, he's glad he let Yuuri choose the shade.

* * *

 _ **I'm… not?**_

* * *

He lifted his adoring eyes, sparkling in warmth when he notices the dark-haired skater's pink cheeks.

"H-How do I look…?"

* * *

 _ **I'm not… cursed…?**_

* * *

Viktor laughs quietly, and the phantom pain from the past ebbs away even further.

"You look beautiful, Yuuri."

* * *

 _ **No… I'm not cursed.**_

* * *

"S-So do you!"

Viktor smiles softly. Yuuri was getting nervous again. But this wasn't something he couldn't handle.

* * *

 _ **I'm not.**_

* * *

Now, on the glittering stage they both knew and love so much—with only the lights up above illuminating their story, Viktor inhales and holds his head up high.

* * *

 _ **Not while I'm with you.**_

* * *

When he fell for Yuuri Katsuki, he realized with shame how much of an idiot he actually is. The sanctuary of white was abysmal, at best, but all this time—even when he came to be with Yuuri and learned to love Yuuri—he never bothered to look around. It had been a self-punishment of sorts.

But just because he had torn himself from his old comfort zone didn't mean that he couldn't learn to make this new one comforting.

Viktor looked down. His breath hitched.

He was stepping on a mirror.

The entire floor was a mirror.

A long mane of vibrant silver swayed on the other side, and turquoise eyes widened as its younger version crinkled happily back at him.

Viktor took a step.

His long-lost girl took the step with him.

This time, Viktor didn't bother stopping his sobs.

His precious girl never left—never disappeared when he did without warning.

She simply found another way to stay.

* * *

 _ **So please…**_

* * *

 _"If I win this dance-off, you'll become my coach, right?"_

 _"I want to eat pork cutlet bowls with you, Viktor."_

 _"I'm going to become a super tasty pork cutlet bowl, so please watch me!"_

 _"I want you to stay who you are, Viktor!"_

 _"Viktor is the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to. I don't really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it 'love.' Now that I know what love is and am stronger for it, I'll prove it to myself with a Grand Prix Final gold medal!"_

 _"Don't ever take your eyes off me."_

 _"Just have more than I do that I'll win! You don't have to say anything. Just stand by me!"_

 _"I'll show my love to the whole of Russia."_

 _"Please be my coach until I retire!"_

 _"I-I'll try my best from tomorrow on so… tell me something for good luck!"_

 _"After the Finals, let's end this."_

 _"Please stay with me in competitive figure skating for one more year! This time, I'll win gold for sure!"_

* * *

 _ **Please stay.**_

* * *

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful—dimmed—background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn't imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air.

Another pair of hands gripped them and Viktor squeezed back.

Viktor smiled softly, his eyes only for him—for the beautiful creature whose gaze stole his heart, whose voice woke him up, whose touch wiped his tattoos. The other man laughed, eyes crinkling as the brilliant colored lights of the stadium bore down upon his jet-black hair and creamy skin.

Yuuri wasn't a replacement for his old dancing partner. Far from it.

Viktor could feel his little girl moving within him, eagerly shadowing his movements as they led their partner—lover—on this intimate dance.

* * *

 _ **Stay close to me.**_

 _ **And never leave.**_

* * *

Yuuri smiled up at him, drawing close as they switched places and he held Viktor tenderly.

Man and girl, one as can be, sighed in content… and embraced him back.

Yuuri is his muse—his life and love.

* * *

"Viktor! Long time no see! Wow, you look great!"

Viktor smiled at Yuko as he entered Ice Castle. They were back in Japan after training in Russia. "Hey, Yuko!"

"Oh, you're growing out your hair, huh?"

At the mention, the skater's hand went up to smooth his silver mane back, still unused to finding a hair tie on it. It's been a while.

"Well, I found out that Yuuri really liked it long back then, so…" he trailed off teasingly, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Yuko as the aforementioned male joined them in the lobby.

 _"Hm? My hair?"_

 _Yuuri nodded, leaning back against the sofa's backrest as Viktor lied his head down on his lap, idly watching the television in their apartment's living room._

 _"Why'd you cut it back then?"_

 _Viktor's answered the question so many times already that it comes almost automatically to him. But remembering that this was Yuuri—_ his _Yuuri—asking, he paused and pondered on what to say._

 _"No reason, really. I guess I was just getting tired of it being so long and decided I should change things up." In the end, he couldn't think of a better-sounding answer._

 _Yuuri hummed in reply, carding his fingers through Viktor's crowning glory spilled on his thighs._

 _Viktor looked up at him. "Why? Do you like it longer?"_

 _Yuuri's used to his teasing by now, but he still couldn't play off the blush on his cheeks. "W-Well… I'm just remembering how beautiful you looked with it…"_

 _Viktor pouted. His little girl giggled softly at his silly envy. "Why? Don't I look beautiful right now?"_

 _He expected Yuuri to flounder, but was taken aback when the other replied almost immediately, "You do."_

 _Turquoise eyes widened, and his girl and his heart both gasped in disbelief at the pure happiness the two words evoked deeply within them. His sanctuary flickered like a shining prism._

 _"So…" The fingers combing his head hadn't faltered in their movements. "Do you want to see me like that again?"_

 _Now they did. And Viktor found with glee that Yuuri's expression reserved only for him never stops filling him with life._

"Why are you two looking at me like that…?" asked Yuuri warily, looking back and forth between the two. Viktor couldn't help flashing him a mischievous grin.

"No reason…" he drawled with a wiggle of his eyebrows, twirling a piece of his silver locks that were already reaching past his shoulders.

Yuuri jolted, turning his head away—but his ears were obviously red.

"C-C'mon already! D-Didn't you say you wanted to s-skate?!"

As Yuko and Viktor laughed at Yuuri's frazzled composure, Viktor inwardly smiled and let himself be pulled back into his sanctuary.

He didn't know when and how, but the old one eventually melded with his new one, a door no longer separating the two together. The mirror floor was as beautiful as ever, but unlike the ice, this one granted Viktor clear view of himself and the things in his sanctum. His girl was with him, as usual, and she started dancing to silent music as the colors bled and spilled into their place, ever-changing and vibrant as the lights hit them. Viktor stared down at her fondly, watching her skate along her side of the mirror.

The tattoos were slithering on him again—never truly erased—but this time… they compelled Viktor to join her.

To join _him_.

Viktor brought himself back to the outside world, where Yuuri was waiting for him on the rink. He hurriedly tied his laces with a smile on his face.

Funny, he thought to himself. His cheeks would always hurt from smiling too much, but this time, he didn't mind it at all. He liked it.

* * *

 _ **Now, come, my love…**_

* * *

His excited eyes quickly spotted Yuuri as he entered the rink.

 _People say you can't love someone else if you don't love yourself._

Yuuri kicked off with his favorite triple axel, cleanly landing as his arms gracefully balanced his body.

 _Bullshit._

Viktor's lips twitched when his fearless girl intoned her similar thoughts passionately alongside his.

 _I've never loved myself._

A hazy world filled with dimmed memories came to him and he didn't fight it for once.

 _But you…_

Then, hazel orbs caught his turquoise ones, and despite the distance and its poor eyesight, they held on to his almost stubbornly.

 _Oh god,_ you _…_

They sparkled when Viktor came closer, so much closer.

 _I loved you so much, I forgot what hating myself felt like._

Then they fluttered close and so did Viktor's, as they let their unheard song guide their heartbeats on what dance to do.

* * *

 _ **Join me in this fairytale**_

 _ **And let's never let it end.**_

* * *

This is the incomplete tale of the Accursed Man named Viktor Nikiforov—who thought that he was cursed, but it was only in his mind.

Come.

See the current dance finish in rapture.

Let the song of the ice sooth your souls.

Make the spotlights your allies in this wonderful stage we call life.

Now, as lover and lover spin slowly to a halt, tucking their blades into a dramatic pose…

A crashing crescendo deafens the silence.

And the crowd roars in applause, yelling for an encore.

* * *

 **UPDATE [1/5/17]:** Wow, still read all that here? You must've been pretty confused when the bold, centered, and italicized parts came outta nowhere, huh? See, folks, this is why _the lyrics were important_. But _no_ , the music industry and FFNet says otherwise. That's cool, that's fine. Gotta play by the rules when you don't have money yet, anyway. But...

I am a firm believer that songfics can be well-written with lyrics in them, so I sure hope that sometime in the future, the two aforementioned offenders of poetic fiction clamoring for copyright will be set straight by a new trend in writing.

On the other hand, this fic is open for an AMV counterpart. :3

* * *

 **A/N:**

Right, you probably want my explanation on this mindfuckery now.

Well, when I first thought of a birthday fic for Viktor, I figured a song fic would be better and won't take much time. (It did, though. Fuck you, writer's block.) Since I'm too obsessed with Alexander Rybak's Fairytale, I immediately saw a good analogy for him there (and an even more literal one with Georgi, but I'll explain that on his own oneshot). This was inspired specifically by this post (vyctornikiforov. tumblr . co*m / post/ 153841946100), about one of the headcanons on why Viktor cut his long hair. I waited for the anime to finish so that I could properly arrange my thoughts on this headcanon and how it would've affected his life until the end of Season 1.

Viktor's oneshot is the poetic, figurative, and symbolic side of the song Fairytale (while Georgi's is the literal). His little girl is his inner self, and I've applied this symbolism liberally—and now, whether it denotes his feminine side, his gay side, or his soft side is all up to you readers. All I know is, during his life as a skater, he had to give up lots of things or turn his back on them, and for me, one of that was his old self. (I like the idea that he sees her as his skating partner back then.) When he met Yuuri, he gained another view on life and managed to reconnect with his past. And now, he's happier and healthier inside, because he had never wanted to lose his past self in the first place. That's not to say he's lost his maturity or something—more like, when he was younger, he was so dependent on that side of him, but now that he's grown as a person and he reunites with her, he becomes even better because he can now clearly see so many things that he had ignored up until that point.

(Am I making sense? Maybe you guys can just chalk it up to poetic license.)

I took a lot of scenes and lines from the anime that fit so well with this. Think you can find them all? :D

Also, the last batch of monologue when Viktor joins Yuuri skating in Ice Castle is a tribute to this post (thanksfordestroyingmylife. tumblr . co*m / post/ 154795914074/ i-love-you). It had Yuuri saying those lines about Viktor, but we all know that it can also go both ways, right? :3

All in all, Viktor Nikiforov is a complex man and I can't wait to see more of him in Season 2. After all, this fairytale isn't over yet, is it? :D

Belated happy birthday, you silly Russian man.

(someone hold me writing this hurt my heart omg)


End file.
